


once upon a city

by anies



Category: Hunter X Hunter, 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Genre: But kind of not, Character Death, Don't Have to Know Canon, Don't repost to other sites, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Meteor City | Ryuuseigai (Hunter X Hunter), No Angst, No Romance, Not Beta Read, Not Really Character Death, Port Mafia Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Post-Succession Contest Arc (Hunter X Hunter), Reincarnation, Yokohama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anies/pseuds/anies
Summary: Once upon a time, there is a city. It reeks of greed and crime and corruption, but it is home.(In other words: the time the Spider regained it's legs and spun itself a new home in a city not so different from their last.)
Relationships: Kuroro Lucifer | Chrollo Lucifer & Genei Ryodan | Phantom Troupe
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	once upon a city

**Author's Note:**

> Uhhhh. This is something I wrote instead of sleeping? At like 3 am? No beta reader. Probably a ton of grammatical errors but whatever. Please enjoy <3

There is a city. It’s made of tempered greed, power, wealth—but it is peaceful. Despite the innate corruption, it thrives in the sun; parasites killed off by evil and citizens sheltered in the shade of it all; a balanced ecosystem trapezing over a grey line hanging taut over the abyss.

There is a city. It’s name is Yokohama. 

( _It rests by the ocean, hanging precariously on the edge of a precipice, damnation the only thing downwards and struggle the only thing upwards and back. It’s name is Yokohama, and it is a city that wields people with bonds thicker than blood and thinner than water. All to protect the peace._ )

-

When Chrollo dies, he takes with him the memories of his Troupe, of his family. 

_“The Troupe above my life, the Spider above all.”_

There’s a mantra in his head the moment his bleeding corpse hits the frigid waters under the Black Whale, the words reverberating like a thousand machine guns firing in his head. 

_This is the end,_ he thinks, he knows. 

And he loses consciousness. 

-

_When spiders hatch from their eggs, some will scatter and wander to wherever fate takes them. It is no different this time, and the spiders, fresh out of their eggs, scatter to the wind and separate._

\- 

Chrollo’s purpose in life was never something he ever really found out. It was only with founding the Troupe did he find any sense of direction; and yet amidst all the stealing and the treasure, he never did find a larger goal in life. _But that was okay,_ he would reason, for the Spider was his new purpose—to raise it and teach it to survive and grow through loss and change, to ensure that the Troupe would live on. And if there was ever a doubt in his mind that his Troupe was the most important aspect of himself, that of even above the worth of his own _hatsu_ and the weight of his own achievements, let it be known that everything he was, his entire substance, his entire being, was for the Troupe. For it’s legacy. 

The Troupe above himself, the Spider above his life.

Everything, for the Troupe.

And so when he dies he is satisfied, eyelids closing in acceptance and body moving still. He greets death with open arms, familiar with the partner he’d worked with almost all his life. Chrollo does not regret, partly because it is too late for regret, and partly because he would not give anything to change his past, because he holds those memories dear despite the hardship. They defined him, they led him, and they created the Troupe. 

_Quietly, he wonders if the rest of his family is okay._

( _Somewhere in his mind, he hovers over the possibility of their death. He mourns, but makes peace with it. Death is familiar to all of them._ )

-

Chrollo awakens to the sounds of pattering feet on the ground, and the distinct smell of trash and smoke filtering around him. Chrollo blinks. He feels the aching in his joints slow to a halt and the blood begin pumping in his veins again as if he had never died. He feels younger, smaller, weaker. For the first time in a long time, Chrollo is baffled. 

He inhales the smoke-saturated air and smells salt on the breeze, feels the dirt beneath his fingertips as if to assure himself that this is all real. He finds it is, and his mind blanks. 

He should be dead by now, he knows, but his body is healed and he can feel himself alive with every shuddering breath he takes. 

Chrollo pushes himself off of the ground and makes his way up the side of the alleyway, shimmying across haphazard pipes and climbing onto the roof. He duly notes that his nen is still mostly intact, albeit weaker, but as he lifts his head towards the horizon the thought moves to the back burner of his mind. 

There is a city on the horizon line, a mile away from where he stands. It glimmers with the bright sun as it sets, light refracting off thousands of panels of glass. It sits on the coast of the ocean, hanging off the precipice. The sun is beaming and shines in his eyes, and for a moment it is too bright. He looks around himself, and for miles in other directions is a city of trash, mounds towering high and houses built of scraps. 

_I can make do with this,_ he thinks, and an indescribable emotion wells up inside of him, striking like lightning, threatening to consume him whole. 

Anticipation, because this is the start of something new. 

Chrollo is a man who does not take chances for granted. This isn’t any different.

-

_One Spider has found a home in the city that balances over the edge of the abyss, toeing the line that has blurred into shades of grey too numerous to count._

-

Soon enough, Chrollo learns that this isn’t quite the world he knows. The signs first show in the written language that he’s never seen before, in the way that he’d never heard of the city despite traveling almost everywhere. 

_Yokohama_ , he eventually finds out. 

Chrollo teaches himself the written language, his fingers drawing figures in the dirt. He learns from various books that he’s managed to steal, cross referencing words with pictures with characters and with people. It’s hard, and it’s a challenge, but this is the kind of adventure he enjoys; knowledge was always right up his alley. 

Yokohama, he digests, is overrun by mafia. He absorbs like a sponge to water the fact that the mafia works with the government and rather than distraught he is instead fascinated by it; he doesn’t particularly like nor dislike it. It vaguely reminds him of his old home. 

Despite this fascination though, Chrollo avoids the mafia where he can. From his own experience, they were often troublesome to deal with. So he avoids them, until he can’t.

\- 

It’s amid the ventures of one of his own hauls does his luck with avoiding the mafia finally run out. There’s a boy in a black trench coat, not much older than he is currently, who is wrapped in bandages until the skin underneath is barely visible. One eye peeks out from underneath brown hair, and the gaze locks with his own, the sharp brown eye boring into him. Chrollo does not flinch, nor does he come out of his hiding spot. He knows that he himself is not the target here, that the local mafia is here for another reason. It’s obvious that they have the same target this time though; the men in black suits with guns in their hands circling the mansion aren’t looking at him. 

The boy shoos away the remaining grunts before making eye contact with him again, his gaze almost daring him to do something. Chrollo concedes this time, hopping down from his perch on top of the adjacent rooftop to approach him. As soon as his feet touch the ground, the demeanor of the boy seems to lift suddenly, the nuances in the boy’s posture and persona equivalent to day and night. 

_Manipulation_ , Chrollo muses to himself. He’s familiar with the performance of seeming innocent and open in order to loosen up your target, in fact he had used it himself multiple times in the past. This isn't anything new. As he steps closer to the boy in the black trench coat, he plasters a pleasant smile onto his face.

“So~,” the boy starts, his voice cheery. “What brings you here?”

His grin is wide, almost feral, and his calculating leer is hidden underneath layers and layers of façades.

“Just a small endeavor,” Chrollo replies, lips planted firmly into the same plastic smile. He settles into a more comfortable position, adjusting his stance to face the boy. 

“Of course, of course,” the mafia boy dismisses, before a sharp, “-unfortunately, this one’s crossed the wrong people.”

_We are going to kill him,_ is left unspoken but understood. 

“Ah, then I’ll be quick,” he says lightly, before sauntering into the estate through a window.

-

They don’t end up exchanging names. It’s expected, really; none are too stupid as to give away any identification to a suspicious figure, after all. And besides having the same target, the reasons for their arrival at the mansion had been totally different—the owner had been funneling money towards a rivaling gang and the mafia boy was sent to take care of it. On a whim, the boy allowed him to leave with the item he came to steal; though it wasn’t as if Chrollo was planning to give it up anyway. He’d also found out through some documents left on the the owner's desk that they had a large circle of friends who had all been collectors of one type or another, and that they had all embezzled funds out of mafia pockets. They were ideal targets.

This time, he’d stolen an antique katana that was taken care of well and still able to be used. The sheath was still glossy new, decorated with small linings and basic detail. The _hamon_ patter on the blade was an uneven but wavy line. Simple and genuine, but beautiful. It was something that he could probably sell for a high price. 

Until that was stolen from him. 

His footsteps were silent in the alleyway that he ran through as he kicked up dirt whilst keeping his eyes on the robber. He had peeked a glimpse of the thief, (looking to be a short boy) who had taken off at a high speed after being spotted. With the katana. 

Chrollo chased the perpetrator through the backstreets he learned to know by heart, and into a dead-end alley. As the thief stopped briefly for a split-second, Chrollo jumped up to cut them off, feet sending dust flying into the air. Backed into a corner, the robber landed lightly, brandishing a short knife before settling into a familiar stance. 

Chrollo stared at the thief, pausing and almost speechless.

“Feitan?”

(He ends up giving Feitan the sword anyways.)

-

_A second Spider has found a home for themself in the city of grey, amidst the conflict. There’s something special about this place, isn’t there?_

-

It continues on like that for the next ten months, and Chrollo collects his family again—like a child collecting cards. He finds Nobunaga at the pseudo-market in the middle of the slums, staring at scrap weapons as if hoping to find something like a diamond in heaps of junk. Nobunaga doesn’t find anything at the market, but Chrollo finds him.

And then Machi, hanging around the richer and oriental parts of Yokohama and stealing from those with full pockets and shopping bags filled with textiles and kimonos. It’s a gorgeous part of town; lanterns hang from every roof, shining bright yellow, orange, and red. They meet in a small clothing store, selling traditional garments. Wordlessly, Machi makes her way to his side. They steal the most elaborate piece they could find. 

It’s like a pattern, he realizes, and it is. A member a month, he acknowledges. The Spider is regaining its legs. It’s being resurrected, perhaps.

_How poetic._

And then it’s Phinks, stealing from the extravagant jewelry store down the street, laughing as he exits the store with full pockets—the owners woefully unaware, unknowing of any better. Chrollo collects his members like flies in a web, except this time they aren’t to be eaten—only collected. 

A month later as he walks down the street towards his next target, he runs into Franklin, lumbering down the street and glancing at the world around him, quietly observing. They join up and rob the mansion of all its art.

The next month, Chrollo visits an art museum and finds a short boy staring at the display cases, eyeing them as if they’ll disappear. 

_Kortopi,_ he realizes quickly, before approaching him from behind and flaring his nen slightly, alerting Kortopi. He turns around, and then the Spider is one more leg complete.

_Danchou,_ the members take to calling him again. It’s nice.

To get away from the stuffed apartment that they all now share, Chrollo leaves for the nearest café. He steals a wallet on the way, out of the pockets of a rushing businessman, humming as he goes. An indie band is playing there, saturating the air with rather pleasant music. He turns his head only to see Bonolenov tapping his fingers to the tune on a nearby table. Chrollo purchases two cold drinks with the businessman’s money and steps up towards the table, swiping a CD of the band off of the stand before setting the drinks down. Bonolenov looks up, and Chrollo smiles. 

It’s not surprising really, that he later finds Shizuku wandering the streets aimlessly. But he’s one of the only things she remembers, and so when they make eye contact from across the street, Chrollo welcomes her back into the Troupe. Everything is coming together.

When a plan accidentally crashes an underground fighting ring, he encounters Uvogin again. With a flurry of fists, he knocks out all the viewers and competitors, before approaching Chrollo with a feral grin.

Shalnark is spotted in a tech shop on the richer side of town, because that’s where all the quality stuff is. When Chrollo enters the shop, he takes his time in strolling over; Shalnark is too absorbed in the different technology to be paying attention. That’s rectified though, when he approaches him from the side. Shal’s eyes light up in recognition, and then they leave the store together, hands full of random phones, cases, and computers.

On the last month, he’s on a small heist at a nearby mansion when he sees Pakunoda with her gun out, prepared to protect the estate and it’s owner. They make eye contact from across the hall, and she almost immediately changes her aim to her employer, before blood is spilled and the land owner is dead. They are a family after all; the Spider above all.

-

_Twelve Spiders have created a home in the city of grey. They have spun it out of silk and gold and dirt and mud, they have scrounged it up with whatever they could make of it. Their web is peerless, spanning the length and width of Yokohama and stretching. It is their web, their home. It stinks and reeks of crime and corruption, but what else would it be but home?_

-

There is a city. It’s dubbed with the name of a rock hurtling through space, a rock that burns so boldly before finally crashing, wrecking destruction around it. The city, although it could be more trash than building, more trash than people, is founded on such deep principles of greed and crime and corruption that almost no good can seep through the cracks. Even though it does not thrive, it lives.

There is a city. It’s name is Meteor City. 

( _It is the home of the Phantom Troupe, the family of Spiders that take and take and take until there is nothing left to give, that steal in accordance with their whims and live the freest life. It is a city situated in the desert, where anything and everything is thrown away; the city which accepts all, even greed and corruption. It is the city where the people have bonds both thicker than blood and thinner than water. It smells of grime and of burning trash, but what else is it but home?_ )

-

It’s odd, to Chrollo, the way that Yokohama reminds him of Meteor City. From the slums to the internal workings, to the way that above all, the state of the city is the most important. It’s fascinating to him; the parallels are uncanny in all the right ways.

_It might be a bit odd to think this,_ he muses, _-but it feels like home._

( _Maybe this, this is his purpose. His home, his Troupe._ )

( _People with bonds thicker than blood and thinner than water._ )

There is a city. It’s name is Yokohama. (Meteor City.)

Once upon a time, there is a city. It’s home.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This idea had been bugging me for a few nights so I got down to write it in one sitting, because if I don't write it in one sitting all my motivation goes down the drain. I rewatched HxH after marathoning BSD and somehow decided that Meteor City and Yokohama were comparable, so here we are. And I'm a sucker for the Phantom Troupe, so here we are. 
> 
> Anyways my apologies if characterization isn’t good bc it's something I'm still working on as a writer.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


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